


The Universe Is A Sadistic Bastard

by Metro_Gnome



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur rises from the dead, Future Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Modern AU, pre slash merlin/arthur, takes place during covid-19 times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24781246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metro_Gnome/pseuds/Metro_Gnome
Summary: King Arthur Flour. How ironic.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 119





	The Universe Is A Sadistic Bastard

**Author's Note:**

> I have not thought about Merlin for years, I have not watched the show in years, and I have never ever written anything even close to fanfic for it ever before. However, I was just innocently scrolling through Tumblr when I saw [this post](https://grenadine-kid.tumblr.com/post/621199379909459968/king-arthur-was-supposed-to-rise-when-the-worlds) and was struck by divine inspiration. Thus, have this.
> 
> Sorry it's so short, I couldn't be bothered to actually create character arcs, though I may continue if further inspired.

It seems kind of like a sick joke when Merlin sees it. 

Grocery stores are still a bit of a miracle to him, still loud and bright and so, so brilliant, but they’re even weirder nowadays. He’s got a cloth mask on his face, and he’s slowly picking his way through the isles. He’s not worried much about himself, he’s lived thousands of years and doubts a pandemic would finally end this suffering he calls life, but an old man wandering the grocery stores mask-less seems like it’s just asking for trouble. He figures he might as well try out baking. How hard can it be? You just mix some flour and butter and sugar together and throw it in the oven. 

Even if he messes up, he’s got nothing better to do. 

So that’s how he finds himself in the baking isle—nearly empty, save for birthday candles and two bags of chocolate chips—staring, indignantly at “King Arthur Flour”.

The universe is a sadistic bastard. 

He buys it anyway. It’s not like he has much choice. He’s making his way through the lineup which seems longer because everyone is six feet apart. As he places his mountain of groceries on the tray, he doesn’t notice the smile in the eyes of the cashier as she scans the flour and then see’s the name on Merlin’s credit card. 

Yes, he has a credit card. Merlin has found that it’s best to adapt rather than resist. He carries all the groceries home in an overflowing backpack and two reusable shopping bags. He does have a car, but the grocery store is close so he decided to walk. It still feels easier than travelling by horse. He doesn't have much to fill his time anyways, so a stroll through the city feels like a pleasant waste of time. 

He gets back to the apartment complex at around 3, drops off his piles of groceries, and decides to take Bucephalus (the car) over to the lake and draw for a bit (you can pick up a lot of hobbies when you’ve been alive for more than a thousand years). The flour got him in a nostalgic mood. Maybe he’ll bring that book from the library he’s been meaning to read. 

As he walks back down he passes Janine in the hallway, dragging her three kids along behind her. She does her best to give him six feet of distance, but it’s pretty tricky in the narrow hallways.  


“Hello Merlin, how are you these days?” She asks, pausing briefly.

She tries exceptionally hard to talk to him and make sure he’s alright (bless her heart; Merlin doesn’t really give her much to work with). One time she brought him a homemade casserole when he got sick. He figures the least he can do is attempt to keep up her awkward small talk.  


“I’m okay,” he says softly. She blinks, opening her mouth to try and continue the thread Merlin has dropped quite spectacularly.

Just then one of her kids starts to whine and pull on her sleeve.  


“That’s good to hear,” she says as she extracts the child’s grip on her jacket “if you need anything, just let me know. Groceries, errands, I’m very happy to help, and Laura is out of work for now so she’s got plenty of time to drive around the city for anything you might need.” She laughs lightly.

The kid whines louder. Merlin nods in acknowledgement. She stays for a beat, then continues her path along the hallway. Merlin, after a moment, calls after her.  


“Thank you,” he says, a little louder. It never fails to feel a bit jarring that his voice is frail and gravely from disuse, “you’ve always been so kind to me.”

Janine clearly has no idea what to say to that, so she smiles and nods, then continues to guide the train of children down the hallway.

Oh well. He tries. 

Bucephalus is waiting for him in the car park, and he’s grateful for the warmth. It’s turning out to be a rather chilly spring day, and moisture is thick in the air. He turns the key, and Bucephalus rumbles to life. The car is an old first generation Ford Granada in a rusty looking orange, built sometime in the ‘70s (Merlin can’t remember), and it’s a bit of a miracle it’s still working. There may be a bit of a magical element to that fact, but who could judge. Merlin’s become quite attached to the car, so a few spells here and there to keep it running doesn't seem like that much of a crime. The car is familiar and the road even more so, and before he even realizes, he’s parking beside the lake and leaving the comfort of the car behind. 

As he walks to his favourite bench, he contemplates. “For when Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will rise again”. Seems like a bit of a pun, now. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Thousands of years of waiting and it was all a god damned baking pun. He shakes his head. If there was any time when the world's need was greatest, he thinks it would be now. He doesn’t much keep up with the news, but whatever he sees never fails to send him into a spiral of dread. Maybe the world will end before Arthur arises. That would also be kind of ironic, though more in the Alanis Morissette way than anything. 

He pulls out his sketchbook. It’s mostly full; he should probably buy a new one soon. He grabs his charcoal and opens it to a fresh page, creasing the page with the pad of his finger so it lays flat. He begins to draw. First, a strong brow bone. Wide nose. Solid jawline, slightly tensed. Furrowed eyebrows. Slowly, a familiar face comes into being on the page. Sandy hair, falling just above his eyes. His face is still crisp in Merlin’s mind, as if he would ever let it slip. All of their faces are, though his is the one he often comes back to. At least he got to see most of them to a natural death, painful as it was. Arthur he can’t picture any older. He’s trapped, forever, in that lake, perfect and sleeping and frozen solid in youth. 

Sometimes he fools himself into feeling like Arthur is still there. That he just… walks right out of the water, still in his armour, covered in mud and seaweed. He can almost feel him, sometimes. His presence. Standing. Often he looks up, only to see an empty lake and the loneliness is even more crushing than before. Today, he’s determined not to, despite the feeling in the pit of his stomach that tells him someone is standing over him. There can’t possibly in a million years be anyone there, Merlin knows this, and all looking up will do is make that fact hurt more. So he doesn’t. He stares down at his drawing, scribbling frantically. A drop of water falls on his hand. Must be raining. Except… another drop of water lands on his hand. His young, unwrinkled, charcoal smudged hand. He looks up.

There, staring at him, is Arthur. 

He’s dripping wet, his armour is rusted, and his hair is matted and full of mud. Pieces of algae are stuck to him, and one is dangling distractingly from his left cheek. His mouth is slightly agape, and oh is this _actually happening?_ Arthur is here, in front of him, alive and breathing and covered in lake water, about to say the first words in a thousand years, the first words Merlin has heard from the man he’s waited for for a _thousand years_ —

“What on _Earth_ are you wearing?”

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to the group chat for coming together to help me remember the past 5 seasons of Merlin and also to name the car Bucephalus. Especially to Ann for reading my writing over, u da real deal. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr if you like, at [Grenadine-Kid](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/grenadine-kid/blog/grenadine-kid) or, my distinctly more amusing blog, [things-my-gen-z-friends-say](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/things-my-gen-z-friends-say) which is pretty much what the title implies.
> 
> Thank you for stopping by!


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